First thing next morning, Maria headed to the hospital wing; she simply had to know if Malfoy was fine. She had tossed and turned restlessly in her bed the previous night, unable to get his pale, unmoving figure out of her mind. She was relieved to see the door to the ward wide open, yet her heart started beating faster. ‘What should I say? Is he still mad? I should really apologize... What will he think? Will he even want to talk? That is, if he’s in a state to talk…’ All these useless question kept shuffling in her head, only amplifying her apprehension. She walked solemnly to his bed, her hands slightly shaking.
His head, shoulder and knee were wrapped in thick white bandages. His blond hair fell dully in front of his grey eyes as he slouched above a thick book, in a way that Maria found strangely disturbing: even though he was all battered up, he still managed to pull off a certain elegance. He turned his head towards her as her footsteps echoed in the almost vacant infirmary.
"Are you alright?" Maria rushed, "I’m so sorry!"
"I’ll be fine," Malfoy replied and he couldn’t help but smirk slightly at her show of concern.
Maria closed her eyes and took a deep breath; it was now or never.
"Listen, about our last talk, I didn’t mean it like that. I acutally do care. What I meant was that at first, I wanted to find out to help Harry – and I still do," she pressed, making herself clear. "But now that you’ve jumped into the equation, the least I can do is offer my help.. So, I’m terribly sorry if I’m annoying you, but I won’t stop until I know what this thing with the Dark Lord is all about."
She had started her monologue with a sympathetic tone but had ended it with a defiant one. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly as she caught her breath again; Malfoy’s close proximity wasn’t helping. He just stared at her, taking it all in, his expression distant.
"Thanks," he simply said.
"And about the bludger-"
"It’s fine."
Maria was a bit thrown off by Malfoy’s disconcertingly short and blunt answers, but still smiled. It was comforting to finally get it all out; to get things straight. She was considering sitting down on the bed next to his when Madam Pomfrey materialized just outside of her office’s door:
"Visits mustn’t exceed five minutes!" her motherly voice called.
"Right… I guess I’ll go now," Maria said, caught off guard. "I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise."
She was smiling as she left the hospital wing. He was okay… he was going to be just fine! She felt more alive and giddy than ever - he wasn’t even mad at her!
That day, Maria was particularly happy; but everyone thought it was normal behaviour, since they had won the game on the previous day. She was planning on returning to the infirmary in the evening, and, honestly, she just couldn’t wait to.
It’s funny how time flies by when you’re in a good mood; next thing she knew, it was Friday and she had spend half her week in the hospital wing talking to Malfoy. The only reason Madam Pomfrey let her stay was because Maria told her she was giving him his homework and helping him catch up... which was half true: she was giving him his homework, but they weren’t actually talking about it. They talked and laughed about other things and whenever Maria brought up her usual unpleasant subject, Malfoy swiftly evaded it and they went back to their conversation. At first, she simply ignored his dodging tactics, pleased to continue with whatever they had been saying. However this wouldn’t last very long, and he knew it. Maria was bright; he wouldn’t be able to do that forever. One day, he would have to choose between telling her the truth or losing her. She had said she cared about him, but he still wasn’t sure if she would be just as interested in him if he told her there was no way he was letting anyone know about it. The consequences of telling her everything could be terrible; if Voldemort found out, she would be as good as dead, and so would he. On the other hand, she was after all very intelligent; maybe she would be able to figure a way to get him out of it. But he would not risk it, and that’s without mentioning the fact that it was highly improbable. He doubted a seventeen year old witch could out-think the greatest dark wizard of all times.
He liked her... alright, he really liked her. And the beauty of it was that for once, he didn’t care. He didn’t care what others would say, he didn’t care that it was impossible, that it was against nature. Purebloods did not like mudbloods. But he lusted for her all the same. He loved the way she crossed her legs beneath her when she sat at the foot of his bed, the way she fiddled with her long locks when she was bored, the way her eyes glistened when she laughed... the way his heart jumped when he saw her... The attraction between them was undeniable, yet Maria seemed keen on ignoring it, attesting it was nothing more than friendship. Since her stubbornness always saw the best of her, he had had no choice but to adopt a pro-active demeanor.
More and more, Malfoy was beginning to hint his interest in her. Every time he did so, she would - quite infuriatingly on his behalf - mention Davies; he was her ever standing back-up. The classic example was, Thursday during lunch break, when she had brought him some food from the Great Hall: he had said with an unashamed, slightly arrogant grin on his face: "I could get use to you bringing all of my lunches." She had momentarily been out of breath, but had found it soon enough to reply: "I – I have to go... meet Davies!" For some time, Malfoy thought it was rather funny, but after a while, it was clear she was using Davies to distance herself emotionally from him. By Friday evening, he had heard enough. She trotted merrily between the empty beds and flung herself lazily on the one next to his, her golden-brown mane fanning onto her back.
"Madam Pomfrey said I could leave tomorrow morning."
"Great! But I’ll miss visiting you here. It was fun," she admitted, shrugging her shoulders.
"For you; you haven’t been the one stuck on a bed for a whole week."
"The mighty Malfoy, reduced to ashes because of a girl."
"Got that right."
His silver eyes bore into her goldenish ones fervently as Maria looked away uncomfortably. She wished she didn’t know what Malfoy was talking about. Unfortunately, he had made it quite clear by now. After a long pause, she risked a quick glance at him; he was still looking at her, an attentive expression etched on his face. His blond hair wasn’t combed back; instead, it hanged in front of his eyes, which were slightly red-rimmed and bore dark marks under them. She couldn’t help but he still looked sick even though he was supposed to be healed.
"You’re still struggling with that task of yours aren’t you."
It wasn’t a question but rather a statement.
"There’s something I don’t get. I talked to Dumbledore about you and-"
"YOU WHAT!?"
Malfoy had shot straight up in his bed and bore a bewildered expression on his face; his eyes were suddenly darker and menacing. His reaction both intrigued and frightened Maria.
"WHAT DID YOU TELL HIM?!" he roared.
"Why does it matter-"
"TELL ME EXACTLY WHAT YOU SAID!"
Maria mastered her best you-must-be-out-of-your-mind look… which he was. However, he was definitely not joking, so she answered:
"The usual stuff."
"WHICH IS?"
"That you’re up to something on the Dark Lord’s orders."
"And?"
Malfoy looked as if he was dreading an answer. His voice had lowered drastically and Maria was seriously starting to worry.
"He already knew. He said you already have all the help you need. And that was my point. I don’t understand, what help? You’re always saying you’re on your own."
"He knows…"
Malfoy fell back onto his pillow as his world seemed to fall apart in front of him. That was probably the worst thing that could happen; Dumbledore knowing about it.
"Malfoy? Are you okay?"
Right now, Maria didn’t bother too much with her questions; she was far more concerned about his sanity.
"I’m as good as dead."
Malfoy was still staring at the wall facing him. His face was blank… with fear?
"Well, we all die someday, now are you sure you’re okay?"
Malfoy slowly turned his head to look at her blatantly… Maria didn’t like this one bit.
"Say something!"
"You should leave."
"Not until I know you’re fine!"
"I’m fine. Go."
He wasn’t convincing at all; he still looked miserable - for a Mafloy - but Maria left nonetheless. It had just been too disturbing. It infuriated her not to know what all this was about; it maddened her to be kept in the dark while dramatic things were happening… or about to happen. That night, she patrolled the deserted corridors alone; that is, accompanied by her endless thoughts. It seemed to her as if Malfoy didn’t want Dumbledore to know. But why? Was he somehow involved? And if he was, how could that be a bad thing? Wasn’t he the one wizard Voldemort feared? ‘I don’t understand a single thing anymore. This is such a mess…’